CRACK!
The great golden sun slammed with tremendous force into the sea of black mist. It felt exactly as if Bryan had plunged headlong into another boundless, ghostly netherworld entirely separate from the mortal plane.
His ears were filled with nothing but shrill, agonized wails of the tormented dead. Thousands upon thousands of voices were screaming at once, overlapping and echoing until they became a single horrifying chorus.
The darkness of the dense fog was so utterly comprehensive that even Bryan's enhanced vision could not pierce through it to see what lay ahead.
He was flying blind through an ocean of hatred.
His spirit extended beyond the limits of his body, reaching out with invisible tendrils of perception to sense his surroundings. What he encountered in that exploration seemed to be an endless world stretching in all directions.
Bryan's brow furrowed sharply with concentration and concern, and his controlled expression revealed rare discomfort that he would never have allowed others to witness.
The black mist surrounding him and pressing in from all sides, sealing off his sight as effectively as a blindfold was not simply fog or smoke or any natural phenomenon. It was something far worse, far more sinister.
This was a twisted mixture of Voldemort's supremely evil magic power accumulated over decades, his cruel and violent intent refined and concentrated, and most disturbingly—the raw hatred and anguish left behind by the countless creatures he had personally slain in their final agonizing moments of death.
Bryan had encountered this particular kind of evil power before, though in a significantly different and less potent form.
In New York, that vampire he'd hunted had also enslaved the remnant souls of the dead—specifically those saturated with the resentment and rage of people who had died miserably and whose spirits had lingered in the mortal world unable to find peace.
But that creature's magic was nowhere near as genuinely powerful and savage as what Voldemort had created here. And the hatred contained within those remnant souls the vampire had enslaved was nothing compared to the soul-deep malice radiating from the beings Voldemort had personally tortured and murdered.
Moreover, as Bryan's perception continued to probe and analyze the composition of the black mist, he made another disturbing discovery.
The thousands upon thousands of lingering thoughts and trapped consciousness fragments that made up this horrific spell did not all belong to wizards and witches.
Reflected clearly in Bryan's heightened spiritual perception were the psychic echoes of countless magical creatures as well.
Bryan's mind flashed back suddenly to the black lake in that seaside cave he had already destroyed—the one that had hidden the fake locket Horcrux. Many of the corpses floating in that lake had belonged not to humans but to magical creatures of various types.
Combined with the chaotic mixture of magical components and signatures he now sensed in this demonic black mist pressing in around him...
It was clear that Voldemort must have conducted numerous experimental modifications on his own body using the blood, essence, and magical properties of various magical creatures back in his younger days. Probably during his disappearance between Hogwarts and his return.
What madness, audacity, and incredible luck!
The Ministry of Magic's rules and regulations governing such dangerous research were naturally completely worthless to someone like Voldemort, who had never cared about laws or ethics. But using the bloodlines and magical essence of creatures to enhance one's own power was genuinely dangerous business and killed most lunatics who attempted it.
Even wizards with profound mastery of the Dark Arts had to be extraordinarily careful when attempting such experiments. One mistake, one miscalculation, and their minds and magic would become overly contaminated, corrupted beyond repair. They would undergo aberrant transformations becoming something neither human nor beast.
Yet Voldemort had likely undergone such incredibly risky experiments no fewer than a dozen times over the course of his life.
The fact that he was still alive and hadn't died screaming in some horrible transformation—Bryan had to grudgingly admit the man deserved to be called a "Chosen One" in his own twisted way.
Of course, this might also be partially due to the stabilizing effect of the Horcruxes anchoring his soul. The soul fragments might have prevented complete dissolution even when experiments went wrong.
These rapid thoughts about the nature and origin of Voldemort's power occupied Bryan's racing mind for only a few brief seconds.
Then his expression shifted, growing absolutely grave and focused, as he watched what was happening at the edge of the great sun of Fiendfyre still encircling his body protectively.
At the churning golden flame's outer edge, where it met the black mist, the darkness had already begun its silent, insidious invasion!
Thread-like black lines, resembling diseased veins spreading through healthy tissue, clung to the surface of his flames. No matter how violently the fires surged or how much raw magic power Bryan poured into them to burn the corruption away, those black tendrils would not dissipate or be destroyed.
Instead, they eroded steadily toward the center at an exceedingly slow but unstoppable pace, like some kind of magical cancer eating away at his defenses.
"Hmph!"
A vicious, dangerous light flashed in Bryan's brown eyes. His incomparably powerful magic power suddenly released like floodwaters bursting through a dam that had held them back!
The golden flames erupted in all directions.
Meanwhile: The Observers Below
"What is that?! What's happening up there?!"
In the fields at the edge of the devastation, the tall grass rustling wildly in the gale-force winds, new figures suddenly appeared with the cracks of multiple Apparitions—Remus and the others who had been escorting the second gold-loaded train.
Immediately sensing the absolutely crushing pressure descending from above, watching the black sea of mist churning and roiling violently in the sky, constantly emitting howls and shrieks that made one's hair stand on end and skin crawl and within that darkness, a golden sun struggling and charging left and right like a trapped beast—Remus's eyes showed fear.
"Bryan and Voldemort are fighting inside that," Sirius explained briefly.
His own gaze never left the battlefield in the sky, his entire body was rigid. His face was drawn tight with worry and helpless frustration.
This was clearly a battle taking place on an entirely different plane of existence from anything they could comprehend.
With their level of magical power and combat skill, they had absolutely no way to intervene or help. They could only watch and pray.
You have to win, Bryan.
Sirius's gray eyes burned with intensity as he shouted frantically in his heart.
BOOM!
With his magic power pushed to its absolute limit, the churning flame peaks at the sun's edge transformed into needle-like spikes. Where they made violent contact with the encroaching black mist, dazzling thunderbolts erupted spontaneously, rampaging wildly through the distorted space!
The range of the black mist was rapidly shrinking under this constant assault!
Both the Order of the Phoenix members watching from the fields and the Death Eaters observing from their own positions noticed this development immediately, though their reactions were worlds apart.
Yet Bryan, who had caused this change did not share Sirius and the others' growing sense of relief and optimism.
In mere seconds of magical output at this level, cold sweat had spread across his entire face, running down his temples despite the intense heat.
True, the sea of black mist was being rapidly consumed and burned away under his relentless efforts. But compared to that external change, his own internal consumption of magical reserves was even greater and more alarming.
Without crossing that critical threshold—a wizard's magic power ultimately came from within themselves, from their own soul and life force.
Where Bryan surpassed Voldemort was in possessing a powerful, flawless soul unmarred by Horcrux creation. His soul was whole and undamaged, giving him certain advantages.
But in a pure, direct contest of raw magic power reserves, he could not gain a decisive upper hand.
Though both combatants locked in this death struggle were still some considerable distance from complete exhaustion and magical depletion, if this stalemate continued unchanged, Bryan would inevitably be drained first. His reserves would empty before Voldemort's.
But Voldemort clearly knew he equally could not bear the consequences of letting this drag on indefinitely. He had his own limits.
So, Bryan realized as he observed the patterns of the mist's movement, Voldemort was actively contracting the sea of black mist concentrating his magic power into a smaller but denser space.
In this way, by reducing the surface area Bryan needed to combat, Voldemort actually made the pressure intensify!
Bryan immediately felt the difference as the darkness pressed in harder.
Which of the three contingencies he'd prepared should he use first?
His breathing growing increasingly uneven, rare hesitation flashed in Bryan's eyes as he rapidly weighed his options.
The "legacy" that Salazar Slytherin had left him pointed the way forward. It revealed clearly the path to take that crucial next step beyond his current heights.
However, he had studied that complex power for far too short a time. A crude imitation of what Slytherin had mastered was not suitable for a duel where a single misstep meant death.
Then...
In the inner pocket of Bryan's robes, flapping wildly in the gale of magical energies swirling around him, a small glass vial emanating pure white light flickered in and out of view.
Bryan's eyes gathered bright focus, his pupils were contracting. His perception extended out, penetrating the black mist.
A moment later, Bryan shook his head secretly in disappointment.
This too was not the right moment to use that.
Then only the final option remained from his prepared strategies.
From the very beginning, Bryan's ultimate goal had never been to kill Voldemort here on this battlefield. With the Horcruxes still intact and hidden, he could not possibly accomplish permanent death.
He had known from the start that the best possible outcome of his duel with Voldemort would be to grievously wound him.
Second best would be to force Voldemort into full retreat.
Third best would be to drive Voldemort away while sustaining serious injuries himself.
But there was one thing that absolutely had to be accomplished today regardless of how the duel itself concluded. Indeed, forty percent of Bryan's entire reason for instigating this battle was precisely for this specific purpose!
"What's wrong, Watson—feeling the strain already?"
Within the solidified mist, now compressed so dense it permitted only the faintest golden light to seep through in thin beams, Voldemort's body formed of swirling fog drifted past like a ghost.
Looking at Bryan bearing what seemed like a crushing weight, barely holding his position, that fleeting face wore a triumphant, savage smile of anticipated victory. His high, cold voice rang out clearly, somehow harmonizing with the thunder and echoing across the wilderness below:
"Is this all you're capable of, after all your boasting?!"
Voldemort's mocking voice was still reverberating across the open fields, the sound waves were carrying his contempt, when Bryan suddenly widened his eyes to their limits and roared furiously!
ROAR!
The great sun of Fiendfyre encircling his body instantly shattered into five pieces with a sound like breaking glass. The violent power released by this deliberate fragmentation directly blasted apart the surrounding black mist, creating temporary openings in the darkness.
Countless golden meteors traced beautiful arcs through the air, trailing dazzling tails of flame behind them like comets as they plummeted toward the earth far below!
Where these golden meteors struck the ground with tremendous impacts, the earth itself was instantly melted by the incredible heat, liquefied into flowing magma. Enormous craters pockmarked the surface.
And one of these meteors struck with remarkable "coincidence" directly upon Hufflepuff's golden cup!
"Ugh... AAAHH!!!"
Having transformed his body into dispersed black mist for greater mobility, his own magic power suddenly thrown into chaos and disrupted by Bryan's unexpected eruption and the fragmentation of the Fiendfyre, Voldemort had not yet regathered himself into solid form when disaster struck.
Suddenly the surging pain as if his very soul were being torn apart, ripped into pieces forced from him a shrill, agonized howl!
But Voldemort was not the only one crying out in unbearable pain at that moment.
In the field below, Harry whose attention had been fixed absolutely on the duel between Professor Watson and Voldemort hadn't even registered what was happening.
Without any warning, the lightning-bolt scar on his forehead suddenly erupted with searing, agonizing pain. It felt exactly as if a white-hot branding iron had been pressed directly against his skin and held there, burning into his skull.
Unable to control himself, unable to even think clearly through the overwhelming agony, Harry screamed in pain and collapsed heavily to his knees in the muddy field!
On the scorched earth covered in flowing lava and melted stone, at the precise spot where that one cluster of golden flame had fallen and struck, the ground suddenly produced something terrifying.
An enormous face formed of swirling black smoke rose from the magma—a face showing grotesque agony and twisted in inhuman suffering. The mouth opened wide and roared towards the sky in fury and pain.
But in the end, despite its terrible appearance, it only managed to stir up a violent wind before gradually dissipating into nothing!
"How dare you! Watson—"
Bryan seemed genuinely startled by this suddenly appearing savage face. His eyes widened, his expression were showing shock and alarm as he stared at it in apparent disbelief.
After it dissipated completely into the wind, Bryan turned his gaze—still maintaining that look of "uncertainty and alarm" toward Voldemort.
"What was that?!"
This...
Voldemort, having painfully reformed his true body from the dispersed mist, looked at Bryan with eyes absolutely full of cold, deep hatred.
But in the end, despite his rage, despite his desire to scream accusations, reason and caution prevailed over emotion. He slowly closed his mouth without speaking.
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